My reflection stares back 

My fingers trace every little crack 

Until they finally meet the frame 

Then they fall back to the center all the same 

But what is outside the mirror's edge?

Is there more than the perfectly trimmed hedge?

The one that borders every house on the block 

Where you only whisper never talk 

The girls with there perfect white dresses trimmed with lace 

Everyone is too scared to step out of place 

And the men, each suit that is the darkest black 

A job with all take and no give back 

The daughter plays with her doll 

And the son loves nothing more than basball

Everything is perfect in their minds

As long as they can hold up their smiles 

Is that the only thing past the mirror's edge?

A life I don't what to live, filled with dread?

Smiling until I am found dead?

Or is there something more I haven't seen yet?